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"Why did you reject me?"
Isael's expression sobered. "The same reason I'd planned to match you with Esodir. It was never my decision to consider you. I came to Atera as part of a diplomatic visit. Your father had no interest in discussing politics, he only wanted to arrange a meeting between us. The way that he spoke of you, it would have been distasteful if you'd been a woman. Then, he presented me witha child."
His lips twisted, his look of disgust bearing an uncanny resemblance to the face he'd made at their first meeting.
"You were a child, and he was trying to sell you to me as if you were cattle. I was repulsed. But also...resentful, perhaps? I'd spent centuries trying to have a child. And there was your father, making children he couldn't even be bothered to raise."
Everything he said sounded sensible to the logical part of Cera's mind, but the old wound still ached.
"It was the worst day of my life."
She knew how childish she sounded, and she hated it. The worst day in her two decades was nothing against the backdrop of his centuries. On his worst days, he'd lost land, friends, and family. All she'd lost was a favorable match and a bit of self-worth.
She braced herself for him to chastise her for being hyperbolic, or to dismiss her remark for the nonsense that it was. Instead, he rose to stand, motioning for Cera to join him.
She followed him out to the balcony, not quite so enchanted by the view as before. The sight of the domiciles and lights dotting the mountainside were underwhelming while Isael's unique aroma drifted over her. She felt tempted to stop behind him and drink in his scent. Stranger still was the impulse she felt to rub her face against his back.
Given that she hadn't taken leave of her senses, she did neither and instead made her way over to stand next to him. Isael's hands rested on the stone railing of the balcony. His eyes were on the distant mountain ranges of Ishvalier as he spoke.
"The night you arrived, I intended to give you my blood and inform you that you wouldn't be my concubine.”
Cera listened patiently, reminding herself not to speak out of turn.
“I enjoyed your company, and I could tell you'd one day be a savvy diplomat."
"How so?" Cera asked, unable to help herself. She was unaccustomed to receiving compliments and of hearing others remark upon her good qualities.
"You're defiant, but judiciously so. It was obvious that you were displeased with me and with what I was offering you, but you weren't foolish enough to express your displeasure outright. It was surprising. I'd expected you to either be obsequious and submissive, or averse to all things elven. I didn't anticipate your curiosity or your eagerness to learn more about magic. When I gave you my blood, I'd hoped it would imbue you with at least a touch of magic so that I could see the things you'd create."
He continued reflecting, but Cera fixated on that last part as her eyes drifted down to the railing. Wrapped around it were the many vines of the mountain drop plant. The night before, she'd made a few small flowers blossom and Isael had regarded them as if they were miracles. Now, as she considered the vines, she thought of the new lessons she'd learned and how they might be applied.
Rather than viewing the flowers as things to be willed into existence, she considered how she might inspire them to grow. In particular, she thought of the bronze dragon and how it had needed the nearness of the fire dragon to remain malleable. What would the flowers need to spring from their dormant buds?
Her mind went back further, back to when her sister had tried to create a garden for them in the closet. Cera had pored over many books on horticulture, desperate to rescue the plants as they inevitably began to wilt and languish in the darkness. In the present, she strained to remember all of the things flowers needed to thrive.
Water, soil, light, and an appropriate climate.
Glancing down, she could see that the vines originated from a soil box that was carved into the stone wall. Brushing her hands over the leaves, she could tell that they were also sufficiently hydrated.
Undoubtedly interrupting him, Cera asked, "Ishvalier is quite cold and elevated, yes?"
Isael turned to eye her curiously. "It is."
"Could you show me what it feels like?"
She was about to add the clarification, 'If it's possible,' but before she could, the air abruptly changed. She inhaled sharply, and then quickly exhaled and sucked in another breath as the air grew thin and frigid. When she exhaled again, her breath crystallized in front of her.
"Would you like me to change it back?" He asked, placing a hand on her hip.
"No," Cera said, sneakily shifting closer to him, until her side was brushing against his. "I like it."
His touch and the climate. Both were oddly exhilarating and set her heart to thumping. She pressed a palm to her chest, reminding herself not to get overly excited, lest she feed his arrogance by swooning.
"And these plants," she said, running her free hand across the vines. "Fyristle. It blooms in the mornings?"
"At night," he said, sounding nostalgic. "Throughout the summer and early autumn, you can't step outside without smelling the fyristle flowers on the breeze."
Perfect.
